


The Idea I'm Toying With [Remix]

by Filigranka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Draco and Muggle Technology, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26732032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: Harry channels his inner child playing with remote controlled toy armies. Draco endures.Remix of kinetikatrue's work "For Want of A Spoon".
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 24
Collections: Remix Revival 2020





	The Idea I'm Toying With [Remix]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kinetikatrue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinetikatrue/gifts).



Harry’s collection of controllable Muggle-made toys were a sight to behold. Infantry, cavalry, ships, planes, helicopters, space rockets, trains, totally unrealistic wizards and elves, cowboys, dragons, dinosaurs (which, as Harry insisted, weren’t the same as dragons at all, if only because the former were still not-extinct)… And those were only the ones Draco had bothered to learn to recognise and name.

They created a passionate, detailed diorama (according to Harry) or a terrible mess (according to Draco) in one of storage rooms of Draco and Harry’s house. Dinosaurs fighting with knights, wizards mounting helicopters, elves with “machine guns”, whatever those were… Harry changed the setup from time to time, making new alliances and starting wars between previously friendly nations.

Guests found these scenes charming and fascinating. Ron spent long hours with Harry, asking him to explain the current military and political setting, and then commenting on the possible battle tactics – “put some chairs here, they’ll be mountains, can you imagine what damage would these archers do in a canyon?”

Luna claimed they were actually moved by the friendly, whimsical spirits, house protectors, _lara,_ and refused to accept Harry’s explanations about “electricity” and “batteries” – which, to be fair, sounded pretty magical to Draco, too.

Hermione might have shook her head in disbelief when Harry told her he’d bought yet another toy, because “it’s a special collection! Medieval version of Iron Man!”. But she was happy that he’d found a hobby, something to connect him with his inner child and “finally allow him to have a childhood he deserves”, _verbatim_.

And, of course, the kids of Draco and Harry’s friends never missed a chance to play with the collection. Which left Draco as the only person so “disconnected from his inner child” he wasn’t in love with these toys. He didn’t quite dislike them, no, he couldn’t dislike something which brought Harry so much joy—he liked seeing Harry happy, relaxed and engaged, _so engaged_ , especially when the thing engaging him was neither a battle, nor an investigation.

Harry, as he played with this ridiculous fantasy army of his, looked beautiful. His long fingers literally danced on the controls, so quickly that Draco, observing him always with a corner of his eye, could never catch all of his moves precisely. He just got an image, a feeling of something fast, purposeful, graceful and _smart_. Move a finger, push a button, repeat. Fingers left, right, up, down, right, up, down, left, wrists making a small circle, thumbs tapping the side of the controls in the rhythm mirrored the march of his tiny soldiers’ feet.

Enchanting, really. Draco had every reason to love these figurines—and yet couldn’t quite warm up to them. Perhaps it was because of his own clumsiness with this game. He’d tried to learn how to use the controls a few times, hoping it couldn’t be so different from learning how to cast spells. A wand was a controller of sort, wasn’t it?

And yet. Pushing the buttons and rotating the circles had proved to be infinitely more difficult than wand-wielding. In these rare moments Draco allowed himself to think about it, he put it on the mindlessness of the Muggle-made tools. When casting a spell, wand and wizard worked together, joined in an alliance deeper than friendship, love or even familial bond. Casting a spell wasn’t using a wand the way one would use a fork, but commanding it – or better yet, setting of the tune, starting the first note of a song and waiting for the wand to finish it.

With the toys’ controllers, one was supposed to do the whole work alone. Tiny armies didn’t read one’s mind. Draco, accustomed to suggesting or ordering and expecting results, was getting lost in details when it came to doing all the work, controlling every step and shot, and seeing your little servants losing any will – stopping in a mid-air or mindlessly marching at the wall – without your constant, exhausting guidance.

Harry just laughed and repeated that Draco had a more focused mind and this involved taking care of multiple little, mundane and uninteresting, controlling details. It apparently had something to do with the “divided attention” required to properly play the game. This whole thing was, according to Harry, silly and of no consequence and Draco shouldn’t have spent even a minute worrying about it – he had other hobbies, after all. His collection of perfectly-maintained brooms were a thing to behold!

Draco told himself the same. He was better than some Muggle toys. His life had a higher purpose than mashing buttons on some “plastyc”, funnily-shaped controller. He wasn’t going to _waste_ time on it, he wasn’t going to try and try again only to fail and fail, and fail _again_ , under Harry’s gaze, Harry, who was great at it, just like he was great at quidditch, and flying on every broom from Draco’s collection…

Ehm. So yes, flying. Flying, which was a proper wizard’s sport and entertainment. Mastery in it was a worthy goal; broom races and one-on-one quidditch training sessions – a perfect hobby with millennia of tradition. Playing with toy soldiers, although good for Harry’s stress level, couldn’t compare.

And yet. There was a part of Draco’s mind, perhaps the same one which loved to observe Harry playing, which was fascinated by these games. They challenged him, their non-magical and yet so sophisticated existence challenged him, just like Harry himself had done in their school years – although Draco rarely let his thoughts to reach _th_ _at_ conclusion.

Which is, perhaps, why it had taken him so long to act. To start a little conspiracy behind Harry’s back. He preferred to call it “starting a conspiracy”, not “asking friends’ kids to teach him how to finally control these toys”.

If anything, kids were eager to help, especially when Draco told them it was supposed to be a surprise, a gift of sort to Harry. The kids even resigned from the pay in galleons Draco graciously proposed them, contenting themselves with flying sessions on Draco’s brooms and a bag loaded with sweets.

Lessons started at summer. The teens proved to be ruthless teachers, ordering Draco to make complicated moves like turning the figurines around or making them walk, run, jump, and walk again, and come back to running and jump – not in place, but from one chair to another!

He failed for what felt like infinite amount of attempts. Kids kept rescuing his toy with a ‘copter or a Pegasus, or a dragon, or anything with wings. Draco felt defeated, but couldn’t back down – the children, clever little creatures, demanded half of the price in advance. Lending them his brooms weren’t much of a problem, but Draco’s stocks of best, hand-made chocolate pudding and other sweets were already plundered, and if he’d sacrificed the pudding, he wasn’t going to let it be in vain.

Draco hadn’t trained with such determination since preparing for quidditch matches in Hogwarts. Almost every day, before Harry came back home from his auror office, one of the children, usually Rose, appeared in his chimney with a joyful “I’ll fly a little before it gets dark, okay? and then, we can start our lesson, I _promise_!”

Not so much of a promise, thought Draco every day, more like a threat – but every day he also sat down at the chair over that Harry’s diorama, and tried to follow _a kid’s_ instruction as closely as he could. It was supposed to getting easier at some point. It was supposed to get instinctive. Draco longed for that blessed moment.

At some point, the toys invaded even his dreams. They were falling and falling in a bottomless pit between chairs, and Draco couldn’t do anything about it, no matter how hard he pushed the controllers. Sometimes in these dreams he and the toys blended into one and it was like he himself was forever jumping and not making it – missing the Snitch, falling from the broom, feeling the zing in his ears as he cut through the air – and waking up before he hit the ground.

Yet time flew fast, and with all these rounds of training Draco couldn’t escape making some progress even if he’d wanted to. According to his “professors”, Draco “got more certainty” in moves, the toys ran “smoother”. In mid-fall, his soldier made a successful jump between chairs! By the end of autumn, Draco was able to control a couple of toys simultaneously… And, most importantly, at the beginning of December the kids decided he was good enough to use the flying toys! Finally! Flying toys were vital to his surprise! And he might make it before New Year, even!

At this, Draco’s attitude changed completely. He was overtaken by the fresh wave of determination. If there was any activity he loved in his life, it was flying. The word itself was enough to fill his veins with excitement and anticipation, which, in turn, helped him to focus. For the first time, he felt the joy at the thought of touching the controller, similarly to when he’d been to finally choose his wand! And apparently, his mood made all the difference, because moving toys from a distance started to seem a little like magical.

Of course, manoeuvring small toy in the air couldn’t compare to actual using a wand or being on the broom, but Draco wasn’t going to let some overcomplicated fork bet him at _flying_. This privilege belonged only to Harry – and needless to say, things stayed this way, as at the beginning of December Draco was able to catch falling toys himself. Even Rose, his harshest critic, was impressed.

And Harry, ha! Harry still didn’t know a thing, lulled into a false sense of security by Draco’s previous, long-lasting dismissal and disinterest in the game.

So when, not long before New Year, he opened one of the boxes with chocolate frogs left from Christmas – he always bought too much of anything; yes, they had a large circle of friends, but amount of food Harry stuffed in their storage, would feed an army! – he did it in a careless manner, checking only if their owls weren’t in sight.

A blunder. What it had been what old Moody had always repeated? “Constant vigilance” or something like that – Harry definitely forgot that lesson tonight.

So, he was reminded. By a _dinosaur_ (not dragon!) flying from the corridor, lowering its _latitude_ to whizz near Harry’s ear and grab a chocolate frog almost straight from his mouth, and then speeding back to Draco and sat at his arm.

Harry looked at him, blinking. Tips of his fingers were deeply brown with the chocolate and Draco almost forgot about his surprise, waiting – wishing – for Harry to lick them clean.

After a moment of silence, Harry said just “oh” and a small, somewhat uncertain smile appeared on his face.

‘Well, yes, indeed,’ answered Draco and cursed his lack of eloquence; they had repeated the proper phrase with the kids thousand times, why did he suddenly felt like a gnome had got his tongue? ‘This is, I mean…” He reached forward, holding the controller tightly. The dinosaur on his arm swayed. ‘Are you game?’


End file.
